Strawberry
by Gabriel DeMarque
Summary: Not innocent. Oneshot. SpikeFaye. Heavy making out with lots of implict sexuality. Don't read if you don't like things bordering on smut, nothing explicit happens but loads is implied. Just thought I'd warn you.
1. Disclaimer and Content Warning

**STRAWBERRY**

All standard disclaimers apply. I don't own anything, including Spike or Faye.

Content warning: Anyone offended by somewhat hot and heavy scenes between the characters mentions above should not even think about reading this. It is not explicit, but if you've ever thought about sex as anything more that a mating ritual, then you'll get the hot and heavy parts of this.

A reviewer asked what Gaujo and Romani meant, so I decided to include the definitions (given in Session 3: Honky Tonk Women) here:

Gaujo—"a bumpkin that doesn't know which way is up"  
Romani—a gypsy

Please forgive spelling errors, I just spelled it as close as I could to how it sounds. I never did get hooked on phonix.

Who knew strawberries could be so sexy, even when you're eating them alone…


	2. Strawberry

It reminded him of her, dark and mysterious on the outside, sweet and tart on the inside. And out of place on this dank ship. The ruby flesh depressed slightly under his bony fingers as he picked the random thing off the table. Russet colored eyes examined it from every angle. The tiny pips running along the outside, the sweet shine on the chocolate coating, the drizzles of white that entranced him even a little more.

The sweet man-made flavor coated his tongue as he popped the morsel into his mouth still contemplating the similarities. He ran his tongue around the fruit, as he dropped the wasted leaves to the table; the tiny pips reminded him of the calluses that peppered her hands. He only ever felt them when he was half unconscious and she slouched over him, legs bent in at an odd angle—one knee tucked almost under the other—as she sat on the table, trying to get close enough to bandage him. He'd never really thanked her for it, but he could feel those hands brushing his bare chest when he lingered for a moment between awake and asleep.

He savored the sweetly laced bitterness that laid such a layer on his tongue, and he wondered what she would taste like if he took the time to really explore her body. He sought out the bitter notes of cocoa and thought about the way her eyes cut straight through his body, like she could look straight into his soul through that busted up eye of his.

The white chocolate, that pseudo-chocolate that was anything but, danced in and out of the harsher tastes already lingering against his palette. The tenderness that she showed when she didn't think anyone was watching. Her hands again, this time her fingertips as they lingered a moment too long on his forehead as she checked him for the tell-tale fever of infection. Or the way she would quietly place her dish into the sink and clean-up after herself if Jet was already asleep. She thought no one saw, but he had.

His teeth burst through the flesh of the berry, shattering the illusion of safety as sweet juice bathed his mouth. A half moan rose up from the depths of his stomach and he closed his eyes. This was the moment of release, when all of it came together. This was her eyes flashing as they bickered, tart and wonderful. It was the pregnant moments of silence before they burst through a door chasing a bounty. It was the moments when he nearly reached out and touched her skin, but stopped just short, tucking his hands safely back in his pockets. The taste swam to the back of his throat and he swallowed reflexively, trying to make the moment last.

He chewed slowly, pressing the fruit against the top of his mouth to squeeze every single drop of juice onto his tongue. The muscles of his throat contracted slowly as he swallowed, the aftertaste of each separate part taking a place in the way his mouth tingled. A fingertip swirled across the porcelain of the plate, picking up the last of the chocolate, and reminding him again of the creamy flesh of her lower back, her stomach, the smooth line of her neck. He swallowed reflexively.

"Gaujo." Her voice floated into his head, and he wondered why it sounded like the taste of white chocolate.

"Romani." It was their ritual; he caught her hand as she pushed past him—probably to get a beer from the fridge. Her wrist was tiny inside his palm as he pulled her to him, her small body fitting tight against his.

"Wha.." he pressed his lips to hers, turning to push her against the fridge, taking advantage of her surprise.

Her lips tasted like smoke, mint, and something uniquely female. His tongue pushed against them, begging for access. She moaned and he took advantage again. His tongue passed over her teeth, darted out to tangle with hers. Her mouth tasted so sweet, like sugar covered fruit. Like whipped cream.

Her hands were rough in his, calluses in just the same places he had memorized; he held them together with one hand, his other gently wrapping around her side. He wanted her naked, he wanted her moaning into his neck, he wanted to feel her hot and slick and perfect against his body. Her neck tasted like vanilla, sweet and pure. His teeth dimpled the skin, and her body arched against him. Cupcake taste, the taste of frosting and angle food cake.

Somewhere a door slammed shut but he didn't stop, his fingertips dug into her side and she moaned. A predator's smile dragged across his face and he locked her lips to his again.

Their foreheads leaned against each other as they panted, noses almost touching as their breath moved in and out of their bodies in sync. The ship was still quiet; nobody had stirred since the door slammed closed some infinite time ago.

Her lips were bright red, the skin on her neck was screaming, and he leaned his head down to lap at the spot, soothing the soreness out of it as her body shifted against his. A moan caught in her throat and he pressed his body against hers, fascinated by the way she shifted struggling to open up for him. Somewhere in the back of his thoughts he knew that if he slid his hand down those ridiculous hot pants she'd be wet for him, waiting for him, anticipating. Her chest heaved and he watched as her breasts moved, blush dancing across them like strawberries drowning in cream. That same place in his mind whispered that her nipples were probably tight and pink from her excitement.

A knot tightened in his stomach to match the hardness of his dick against the fly of his jeans. His thoughts constricted to a single point of focus. "Strawberries." He croaked around the desire that tightened his airways, forcing himself away from her and into the opposite counter.

She looked totally lost, "What?" her voice was breathy from half suppressed moans.

Eyes like red dirt darted to her face, drifting for a moment in the island green of her eyes and the ashy blackness of her eyelashes. "I wanted to know," his eyes soaked in every detail of her face, memorizing them, matching them to flavors, "if you tasted like strawberries."

Her body sagged against the cold metal of the refrigerator, but a tiny smirk played on her swollen lips, "Do I?" 

"Not a bit."

She hummed, and pushed away from the fridge to touch his chest, delighting in the quiver of flesh under her fingertips. "Too bad."

"Romani." He brushed a stray strand away from her face, fingers lingering on her cheek.

She turned away from him and he watched her hips sway under the yellow vinyl. Her heels clicked down the stairs and he listened closely as she light up a cigarette and took a too long drag off it. Green eyes flashed in the dull light as she looked over her shoulder locking eyes with him for just a moment with a soft smile, "Gaujo."


End file.
